𝑖'𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑

  #𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚆𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙴.    independent, private writing blog for  𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑂𝑈𝑇𝑆𝐼𝐷𝐸𝑅  of arkane studios’ DISHONORED (2012).   current status: on hiatus for an indeterminate time.

to be honest, i need to let my dishonored hyperfixation rest for a bit. after nearly a decade of it constantly being on my mind - with the outsider as the primary reason - i’ve kind of... ran out of steam? out of ideas? i love the outsider very dearly. he’s a character that’s influenced me unlike any other. and i know i’ll be back, i always will be, who am i without the outsider in my brain?  but to be honest... i struggle to be here. i struggle to write and to find interest to do so. it feels almost painful sometimes. having been on my other blog for literally a few weeks made me realize what it’s like to want to write again ... and it made me realize that for now, i cannot write here.

i can’t make any promises about activity, or when it’ll pick up again. this is something i can’t lie about. i need to give myself the time to really be inspired again.

this is not a goodbye, it’s a pause. and it pains me to do this, but it’s better to not lie.

if you really want to write with me still, i can write on discord! just, be patient with me, don’t expect any big plots, and mostly dynamic-focused threads.

The brim of a black hat lies on the flats of his fingers. It's not his own, sized to fit a smaller crown. A complimentary bundle of lavender is stuck into its band, to be removed at leisure at a later time. Cole grins crookedly, setting it onto the Outsider's head gingerly. Voice warm, the impish and spark in his eyes softens into something fond, "Reckoned I could get you a hat that'd fit you." The mischief returns in a teasing smirk that quirks the corner of his lips. He taps the newly adorned brim down, "Merry Christmas, Short Stuff."

it wasn’t a holiday he celebrated.  in fact,  the outsider knew little of the traditions they’d discussed before  —-  the conifer covered in decorations, the songs honoring a divine child, the sharing of warmth and gratitude    …   it seemed like a holiday he would’ve enjoyed as a boy.  despite this, he did not wonder;  ‘twas better if he did not imagine what could’ve been, if only to save himself from mourning.

so,  one could certainly call it a surprise when dearest cole thought of him  —-  and brought him something.  disbelief was evident from his facial expression, demeanor suddenly less egotistical than expected.  for a moment, he merely stood there, processing what this meant :  how cole could view him. 

after a few seconds of no movement at all, the outsider tilted his head upwards further than usual, all to see cole from underneath the brim of his hat.  oh.  the previous one was much too large for his smaller physique, and this one   …  it fit perfectly.  it was his style, too.  cole knew what he liked.

gratitude didn’t come easy.  not because he did not feel it, but because he did not wish to seem  —-   insincere.  gauging appropriate levels of gratitude was a tedious task. the outsider had never been this good with socializing, he wasn’t built to be dancing to a tune he’d never once heard.

the curling of his lips was softer, warmer.  humane.  a glimpse of the man within showed, for once.  a genuine smile.